Impulse
by Rayeanne
Summary: Seventeen-year-old twin daughters of the president of Shinra electric power Co., Tifa and Rinoa desperately struggle with secrets that have already torn them and their family apart. AU, Rated M for angst, explicit content and rough language.
1. Prologue: Impulse

**Do Twins begin in the womb,  
or in a better place?**

**

* * *

**

Tifa and Rinoa are identical down to the dimple.  
As daughters of the president of Shinra power Co.  
and one of his favourite turks, they are a perfect family  
--- on the surface. Behind the facade, each sister has her  
own dark secret, and that is where their differences begin.

For Rinoa, she's the misplaced focus of daddy's love ---  
intended for her mother, who goes out of her way to never  
be home. All that Tifa sees is Daddy is playing a cruel game  
of favourites, and she is losing. If she has to lose,  
she will do it on her own terms, so she chooses  
drugs, alcohol, and sex.

Secrets like the ones the twins are harboring are not meant  
to be kept --- from each other or anyone else. Soon,  
it's obvious that neither sister can handle it on her own,  
and one sister must step up and save the other,  
but the questions is --- who?


	2. Prologue: Dedications

**Dedication**

**

* * *

**

This story is dedicated to Natalie, and Emily, dear friends  
who have shown me that no matter how dark  
your world becomes, you can always  
return to the light.


	3. Tifa: Mirror, Mirror

* * *

**Tifa **-- **Mirror, Mirror**

* * *

When I look into a mirror, it is her face that I see.

Her right it my left, double dimples,

dark brown hair, brown eyes, ivory skin.

Her right is my left;

unblemished.

We are exact opposites, Rinoa and me.

Mirror-image identical

twins. One egg, one sperm,

one zygote, divided.

We share one complete set of

genetic markers.

On the outside

we are the same. But not

inside. I think

she is the egg, so much like our mother

it makes me want to scream.

Codependant,

Cowardly.

That makes me the sperm,

I guess. I take completely after our

father. All daddy, that's me.

Stubborn.

Impulsive.

Good, bad. Left, right.

Rinoa and Tifa.

One egg, one sperm.

One being, split in two.

And how many souls?

Interesting question,

don't you think?

I mean, if the supreme being

inserts a single soul at the moment of conception,

does that essense divide itself

like the cells that make up the twins?

Does each half then strive to become whole again,

like a starfish or a earthworm?

Or might the soul clone itself,

create a perfect imitation,

a mirror image

of something yet to be defined?

In this way, can a reflection be altered?

Or does the maker, in fact

choose to place two souls inside a single cell,

to spark the skirmish that ultimately

causes such a unlikely rift?

Do twins begin in the womb?

Or in a better place?

One soul, or two?

We live in a city made of twisted metal,

surrounded by a desert,

made by man-made machines,

pumps that suck the earth dry of it's life's energy.

Mako.

Just over a unremarkable mountain

stretches the rest of the world, many different

places, all speaking the same language.

Unlikely, don't you think?

Mornings here come wrapped

in droops of gray mist.

Most days, it burns off by noon.

Other days, it just hangs on.

Smothers, like a wet blanket.

The town in which we live is most

unique of all, with it's pot-holed streets

and boarded up houses. These houses line

black streets. Even though we live in a

mansion, our house seems to hold

the same dark secrets as the

others do.

Like Rinoa and me,

they are perfect on the outside.

But behind their broken faces and

their flimsy facades, each

holds it's own secrets.

Like Rinoa's and mine,

some are dark. Untellable.

Practically unbelievable.

But telling

Isn't a option.

If you tell

a secret

about someone

you don't really know,

other people might

listen,

but decide you're

making it up.

Even if you

happen to know for a fact

it's true.

If you tell a secret

about a friend,

other people

want to hear

all of it,

prologue to epilogue.

But then they

think

you're totally messed

up for telling it

in the first place. They

think

they can't trust you.

And hey, they probably

can't. Once a

nark, always a

nark, you

know?


	4. Rinoa: I wish I could tell

* * *

**Rinoa -- _I wish I could tell_  
**

* * *

_But to whom could I possibly confess a secret, any secret?_

_Not to my mother, who's never around. A time or two I've_

_begged her to listen, to give me just a few precious minu-_

_tes while she is here. Of course, it's true that the wrong _

_secret could take us all down, but you think she would w-_

_ant to hear it. What if she had to defend it? Really, you'd_

_think she would want to be forewarned, in case the press_

_got ahold of it and someone tried to take down our fam-_

_ily for it. Does she think this family has no secrets? The_

_clues are everywhere, whether or not she wants to k-_

_now._

_There's daddy, who comes home every day, dives str-_

_aight into a tall, amber bottle, falls into a stone walled_

_well of silence, a place where he can tread the suffo-_

_cating loneliness. On the surface, he's a proud man._

_But just beneath his not-so-thick skin, is a broken_

_soul. In his company, at work, he's a tough but ev-_

_enhanded businessman, respected if not particula-_

_rily well liked by the public. At home, he doesn't t-_

_ry to disguise his bad habits, has no friends, a ta-_

_ttered family. A part of me despises him, what h-_

_e's done. what he continues to do. Another part p-_

_ities him and will always be his little girl, his devo-_

_ted dark-haired daughter. His unfolding flower. But_

_enough about daddy, who definitely has plenty of_

_secrets. Secrets mom should want to know about._

_Secrets I should tell, but instead tuck away, wh-_

_ere no one will find them. Because if I tell on hi-_

_m, I'd have to tell on me._

_How I'm a total wreck, afraid to let anyone near._

_Afraid they'll see the real me, not Rinoa at all, but_

_someone different. I do have friends, but they don't_

_know me, only someone I've created to take my_

_place. Someone sculpted from ice. I keep the mel-_

_ted me inside, where no one can touch her, until,_

_unwelcomed, she comes pouring out. She puddles _

_then, upon fear-trodden ground. I am always afraid,_

_and I am vague about why. My life isn't so awful, is_

_it?_

_We live in a fine home, with lots of beautiful things --_

_fine leather sofas and oiled teak tables and expensive _

_artwork on walls and shelves. Of course, someone_

_might wonder why there are no family photos anyw-_

_here. It's almost like we are afraid of ourselves. And_

_maybe we are, and not only ourselves, but whatever_

_history created us. There are no albums, with graying_

_grandparents, or pony rides (never done one of those)_

_or memorable parties (The Shinras don't do parties,_

_not even on holidays.) No first communions or chri-_

_stening gowns. (We don't do church, either.) Of co-_

_urse, no one ever comes over, so no one has ever_

_wondered about these things, unless it's our house-_

_keeper, Kiyoko. Have to have one of those, since _

_mom is never home and daddy often works late,_

_and even if he didn't, he wouldn't clean the house_

_or go to the grocery store. Normal parents do those_

_things, right? I'm not sure what normal is._

_But it really doesn't matter. Normal is what is_

_normal for me. I've got nice clothes, nicer than _

_most. Pricey things that other girls would kill_

_for, or less dramatically, shoplift if they could _

_get away with it. I have a room of my own, _

_decorated to my taste (okay, with alot of daddy's_

_input) and most of the time when I'm home,_

_I hang out in there, alone. Listen to music._

_Read. Do my homework. What more could_

_a girl ask for, right? I mean, my life really isn't_

_so bad. Is it?_

_I clearly recall, once upon a time, long ago, when_

_everything was different. Mom and daddy were in love,_

_at least it sure looked that way to Tifa and me. How we_

_used to giggle at them, kissing and holding hands. I _

_remember how they used to joke about their names._

_How fate must have been a bad poet and wrote them into_

_a poem together. Then Tifa or I would beg them to tell ---_

_just one more time -- the story of how they met._

_But that was before Daddy fractured our world, tilted it _

_off it's axis, sent it careening out of control. That was _

_before the day his own impairment made him overcorrect,_

_jerk the black mercedes onto unpaved shoulder, then back_

_across two lanes of traffic, and over the double yellow lines,_

_head-on into traffic. The was before the one-ton truck full of_

_mako sliced the passenger side wide open. That was before_

_premature death, battered bodies, and scars no plastic surgeon_

_could ever repair. All because my daddy wanted to prove that_

_he could drive without a driver. Yes, that was before._

_Afterward, mom didn't love daddy anymore, though he stayed_

_by her side until she healed, begging forgiveness, promising to _

_somehow make everything right. In fact, since the accident,_

_mom doesn't love anyone. She is marble. Beautiful. Frigid. _

_Easily stained by her family. What's left of us, anyways. We are_

_corpses. At first we sought rebirth, but resurrection devoid of her_

_love made us zombies. We get up every morning, skip breakfast,_

_hurry off to work or school. For in those other places, we are at_

_home. And sometimes, we stagger beneath the weight of grief,_

_the immensity of aloneness._

_No one else suspects. Not our neighbors. Not our friends. Not even_

_our relatives. No one suspects mom's real reason for throwing herself_

_into her work is to run away from us. No one suspects the depth of her_

_rejection, or how drowning in it has affected my father, a powerful pres-_

_ident of a prestigious company, slumped down on his knees, unable to _

_breathe, unable to swim, unable to stop begging for me to open my arms,_

_let him stay, please, please love him the way mom used to._


End file.
